Living in the Shadow of Death
by BlackBlood1872
Summary: [AU] On that Halloween night, Harry gained more than just a lightning bolt scar. Even before he unites the Hallows, Death watches him
1. Chapter 1

Tentative title: **Living in the Shadow of Death**

* * *

Death wasn't a sociable sort. Lady Fate and Mistress Time both knew this, but they kept him company regardless. Both of their jobs were connected to his in some way, after all. Time passed and Death claimed and Fate Saw it all. They were a trio, much as Death disliked having anything but the Hallows to his name.

It was perhaps because of this camaraderie that Death was nearby when Lady Fate took notice of one very specific child. The fact that, at the same time, Death felt him survive a direct Killing Curse certainly helped.

"Interesting," Lady Fate mused, watching through the suddenly transparent floor as the Dark Lord Voldemort screamed and exploded into ash. Death felt the sting of that too, and annoyance once it was clear who had just _not_ died.

"Little cockroach," he grumbled, his attention split six ways as he mentally trailed after the wizard's shattered spirit. Horcruxes would forever have his ire.

Death turned away from Voldemort with a shake of his head, glancing instead at the scene below them. The baby, who he knew to be Harry Potter now that the boy had come into such close contact with him, shrieked as the shard of alien soul forced itself into the new scar on his head. Death yearned to interfere, to stop the process and finally claim a piece of the cockroach's soul, but he knew he couldn't. He could only grab them when they were unchained from the mortal plane, something that possibly might never happen to the Dark wizard.

"Very interesting," Fate repeated and Death finally turned to her. She was watching the baby with the most peculiar glint in her eyes, head tilted so that her long, silvery blond hair, fell over her shoulder and covered part of her face. Her fingers danced over her shimmering gown, the fabric glinting with color as scenes shifted under her hands. But it was her eyes that held his attention; that, and her words.

"What's interesting besides him evading me?" Death inquired, leaning back in his chair. Lady Fate looked at him with amusement clear on her face.

"There is a prophecy about the little one," she murmured, tracing a long finger along her knee, "and something... unable to be recorded, yet set in stone."

On her knee, her dress gained a solid black symbol and Death sucked in a startled breath. His own symbol, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, stared back at him.

"He's–" the being started, then stopped with a shake of his head. Of course he was. Death could already feel, now that he was looking for it, the ownership of his cloak transfer to the child. His wand would come to him eventually – to survive the Killing Curse, no matter how much ritual magic or how many flukes one threw into the equation, still made for an incredibly powerful wizard. The stone would find him, drawn to him like a moth after all the death the baby had already seen. Barely fifteen months, and already three had died near him. The stone may not be sentient, but it would be able to feel that, and influence things enough to make its way into little Harry's hands.

"We will watch him," Lady Fate nodded, smile lighting her face. Death just nodded along. They certainly would.

–_Prologue__ End–_

* * *

–_Chapter __One__ Begin–_

Dudley was chasing him again.

Six year old Harry panted as he pelted across the yard, scrambling for the tree uncle Vernon was close to cutting down. Harry didn't truly know why, and Dudley had pitched a fit over it, since his swing (that he never used but it was _his_, so of course he would get upset) was hung from a branch. The branch always creaked, even when _Harry_ sat on it that one time, and the smaller boy thought Vernon wanted the tree gone so Dudley didn't get hurt. It was only a guess, but Harry was good at guessing motives. He had to be with his relatives.

Dudley was 'Harry Hunting' at the moment, though, and the only place Harry could think of to escape him was that tree, since he wasn't allowed back inside yet. If he could get up high enough, Dudley couldn't reach him. So the boy wouldn't be able to grab his ankle and yank him back to the ground, possibly twisting or breaking the bone in the process.

Harry risked a glance behind him once he'd reached the trunk of the tree and saw Dudley waddling towards him, breathing much heavier than Harry was. Good.

Harry couldn't resist raising a mocking eyebrow towards the boy, but flinched when Dudley growled at him, speeding up in his approach. Harry panicked, latching onto the swing and using it and a nook in the tree to push himself up until he could grab the branch the swing was tied to. It groaned quietly, but held, and Harry clung to it like a sloth, watching Dudley make pointless swipes at him, shouting in his still high voice.

Harry couldn't help but wonder: if Dudley, only just six years old, was this vicious, what would he be like when he grew up? Harry shuddered at the thought and prayed he'd be long gone by then.

Eventually, Dudley grew bored and, with a huff, disappeared back into the house. Harry heard him call out for supper, and Harry realized with a jolt just how late it was. His stomach growled at him, but Harry ignored it with long practiced ease. It wasn't the most important thing right now, especially since he was banned from the house until late that night.

What was important, now that the threat of Dudley was gone, was getting down.

Harry started to shimmy backwards, towards the trunk of the tree, but his luck didn't hold out this time.

The branch he clung to creaked, louder than any time before, and bent downwards. Harry froze and then panicked, clutching tighter to the wood even as he searched for a way down without looking at how far the ground was from him. He tried again to make for the trunk, but the branch shuddered, slipping further and then–

It splintered with a great crack, plunging to the ground. Harry swallowed a scream, hitting the ground with his shoulder, his head bouncing with a muffled crack. The last thing he was aware of before he fell unconscious was a jarring pain over his entire body.

Then all he knew was darkness.

* * *

It wasn't really a death, the being in question mused, but it was close enough that he felt it, deep in his bones. He'd deny to Lady Fate that he'd panicked, running from their realm like a madman the moment it registered. Because, while the boy wasn't his yet, he would be and Death couldn't have him leaving that world just yet. Mistress Time had told him, with mirth, that the boy would survive and that he still had many years to his name. Death chose to ignore that when he felt the boy brush against his domain for the second time in five years.

He'd also deny the protective streak he seemed to be developing concerning the boy. He hadn't felt his non-existent heart stop when the boy's fall registered; he definitely hadn't felt his lungs close up on him, nor had he felt like the world had fallen out from under him. Honestly, what gave anyone those ideas?

Death ignored Lady Fate's chiming laugh and sent her a scowl before he turned away and vanished from their realm, a concerned frown unconsciously finding it's way onto his face.

* * *

Death found him in the Dursley's back garden, laying on the grass underneath the only sturdy tree, staring somewhat blankly at the sky. A branch lay next to the boy, the thicker end broken and jagged. It was morning now, or close enough to it that the sky was lightening. Harry'd woken from his oblivion only moments ago, and the only movement he'd made was to roll onto his back. After that, he'd let his body go numb to ignore the pain.

Death sighed lightly, making no sound, and strode forward.

Harry caught the movement and tilted his head slightly, slight enough that no pain sparked, looking towards the man approaching him. He was tall. Harry could see that, though the man of course looked much taller since Harry was laying down. As soon as he thought it, Harry pushed himself to his feet, surprisingly less sore, and managed to stand still when the man looked at him. He had nice eyes, Harry thought, trying not to stare too long. They were a similar green to his own, but lighter, clearer. They could be scary too, the boy realized with a shiver, recalling his most common nightmare and the flash of light that perfectly matched this mans eyes.

The man had reached him by now and was staring down at him with a blank face. Harry fidgeted, eyes lowering to the mans shoulder. He was dressed oddly, too. Everything was dark, much more of a true black then anything the Dursley's owned. It looked like nice material, for all that Harry couldn't tell what it was. It was thicker than silk, but shone like it and looked as smooth. It wasn't grainy like leather and wasn't denim, but Harry didn't know what else those trousers could be made of. His shoes were probably leather, though. He was almost sure of that.

Harry wasn't supposed to speak, not to anyone let alone strangers, but he couldn't stop himself. "Who are you?" he blurted, then flinched, scrunching into himself. But the man made no move to hit him, only watching his reaction with a sort of sadness in his eyes. Harry forced himself to relax.

"My name is Tod," the man told him, voice just above a whisper. It was a smooth baritone and Harry felt himself calm just a bit more, for reasons he didn't know.

"How'd you– why are you here?" Harry asked next, wary. And he was right to be, surely; why would just hearing this mans – Tod's – voice calm him down if something fishy wasn't going on?

Tod smirked slightly in response, shrugging. "That fall must have hurt," he commented, nodding towards the branch. Turning his head towards it, Harry winced. Now that he mentioned, Harry's head still hurt from where he'd hit it. "Here," the man murmured, suddenly right next to him, his hand on Harry's head. The boy froze and Tod ran his fingers through his hair, pressing slightly harder where it was sore.

Harry winced, expecting more pain, but all he felt was tingling, which faded when Tod took his hand away. His headache disappeared too, clearing up so fast Harry staggered. A gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him from falling down. Harry stared at the man with wide eyes.

"How–?" he started, but Tod just smiled secretively, lifting his free hand to press a finger to his lips.

"Trade secret," he said frankly. Harry found himself nodding, even though he did want to know. He'd never felt anything like that before – the only thing close was the feeling he'd had that time he'd grown his hair back after his aunt shaved his head.

Tod stepped away from him, as if he knew how uneasy Harry was by the proximity. The boy couldn't help but feel relieved, though. He never did feel that safe with an unknown so close to him.

The silence between them was heavy, but Harry didn't know what he was supposed to do. Should he break it? And say what? Or should he wait, as he'd been trained, for Tod to speak?

Turns out, he needn't have worried. The back door opened with a creak (and Harry winced. He would have to oil the hinges) and he cowered automatically when he saw his aunt in the doorway.

"Boy!" she snapped, face twisted into an ugly sneer. Harry flinched and rushed towards her. After a few steps he faltered, turning to look fearfully over his shoulder at Tod–

Only to see the yard empty. Even the broken branch had vanished, the stub on the tree smoothed down. Harry stopped to gape, and question if he'd even met the man, and Petunia growled at him again. He darted past her into the house, heading straight for the kitchen.

It was only after he'd finished cooking and had been stuffed back into his cupboard that Harry realized Tod hadn't ever answered his question. Why had he been here? How did he get here?

Harry didn't know. And he doubted he ever would, now that the man was gone.

* * *

Because of his stunt (taunting Dudley, staying out all night, ignoring his aunt), Harry was locked into his cupboard after making dinner, without having any of the said meal. The next morning, after making breakfast and getting a stale piece of toast aunt Petunia had 'kindly' saved for him from last night, Harry was kicked from the house to tend to the garden. It was a bright, warm Sunday, and Harry soon found himself sweating and starting to get burnt. Not that that was any reason to stop – Harry knew that much.

So he labored on and, around what he thought to be noon, Harry leaned back to wipe the sweat off his forehead with his arm.

And yelped, scrambling away from the crouched form of Tod.

"How long have you been there?" Harry squeaked. Tod shrugged, face caught between looking amused and glaring at the house.

"About five minutes," the man answered. His gaze finally settled on Harry, eyes searching in a way Harry'd never had directed towards him. He'd seen his aunt look at Dudley often enough to recognize the look – a mixture of worry and searching for wounds after a time spent away. Harry flushed. Tod leaned back with a smile that could have been a grimace.

"You shouldn't have to stay here," he said suddenly, eyes back on the house. His expression was twisted with disdain. "Those... _people_ have no idea how to care for someone like you. Don't want to care. And they don't... appreciate what you can do. What we can do." As Tod spoke, his voice quieted, as soothing as it had been the day before. Harry only barely heard the words, but he understood what was being said. He understood, without his conscious understanding, that this man was more like him than his relatives ever could be.

"How would you like to come with me?" the man asked quietly. Harry froze, eyes widening just a touch before he ducked his head. How often had he dreamed of that question, of different relatives, _or anyone_, coming to save him from the Dursleys? How often had he woken from such dreams, cold and alone in his cupboard with only the spiders as company? What was to say he wasn't dreaming right now, still asleep in the yard after falling from a tree? It was a nice dream, though he usually didn't feel anything in dreams. He pain in his shoulder seemed real enough, but stranger things had happened to him than this.

Harry really hoped this wasn't a dream.

The tall man in front of him clicked his tongue and Harry's attention immediately snapped back to him. The only reason he didn't flinch and brace for a smack was because the man was looking at him with the oddest smile Harry'd ever seen. He swallowed heavily, thinking back to the question. There wasn't much to think about.

"You'd want me?" he mumbled back, keeping his voice quiet. He'd learned his lesson about talking too loudly around the Dursleys, and knew it probably transferred over to his interaction with any adult. No one liked a loud child.

"I would," Tod told him, voice steady and filled with certainty. Harry's throat closed up even as a warm feeling filled him. Someone actually wanted him! He felt like he was going to cry, and fiercely rubbed at his eyes. When he opened them again, the man was smiling strangely again. "Do you have anything you need to grab?"

Harry wondered about that, wondered if he had anything he _wanted_ to take with him. He glanced over at the house, then back to the man. "There's..." he started quietly, hesitant. He wasn't supposed to want anything, _that_ was something the Dursley had made painfully clear. But the man was still smiling at him, so he continued, "I have a blanket. It's– all I have of–" his voice grew quieter until he trailed off. His parents were always a heavy subject at the Dursley household, even for him.

The man just nodded, understanding and _recognition_ in his eyes. "Alright," he said, then before Harry could try sneaking into the house to get it, the man waved his hand in the direction of the house, then made a tugging motion, as if pulling a rope.

Harry's blanket, a toddler-sized blue thing with little golden balls on it, blinked into sight outside the door of the house, then flew over to land in the Tods hand.

Harry couldn't contain his gasp. It was part awe, part fright, and had maybe a touch of wonder. Because this man was really, honestly, _like him_ and Harry knew he wouldn't be staying another second at the Dursley's if this man was the alternative.

Tod handed him the blanket and Harry clutched at it, barely refraining from burrowing his face into it. It was the only thing the Dursley's let him have from his parents; the only thing in the _house_, besides Harry, that came from his parents. It was also the only thing that they'd given him, then never complained about or took back. He almost believed they didn't _know_ about it. But how could they not, if they'd given it to him? The only time he'd heard aunt Petunia say anything about it was when she'd sniffed about how he'd come wrapped up in it and how she'd never let her Dudley go anywhere near it because of that.

Then she'd never mentioned it again. And, while he'd kept it hidden in his cupboard, he knew they could have found it. But neither of the adults had ever noticed it.

"Are you ready to go?" the man asked and Harry jumped, startled for half a second before he nodded excitedly. Tod smiled again, this time normally, without the touch of bemusement he'd had before, and held out his hand.

Harry grasped it firmly.

As Death and his new ward disappeared from the yard without a trace, the wards around Privet Drive fell with a quiet snap.

And, far away in an office on the seventh floor of a magical castle, every spinning, chiming instrument monitoring one Harry Potter froze in its place. When Albus Dumbledore looked up in shock, all those instruments turned to dust. Albus was devastated.

Because, for all intents and purposes, Harry Potter had just died.

* * *

_A/N: and that's that. New idea! Woot! I think I saw the 'Death adopts Harry' idea floating around somewhere __– probably Tumblr. Might be continued, probably not. Here, have this story starter! If you want to continue it, credit me and maybe even send me a message about it? So I can read it, of course; I love reading Harry Potter AU's. 'Tod', for those who don't know, means Death in German. Not very creative of him, but it's an actual name so whatever._


	2. Chapter 2

–_Chapter Two Begin–_

Albus didn't know what to do. For several long minutes, he could do nothing but stare at the piles of dust on his desk and bemoan the cause of their destruction. Surely, it couldn't be. _Surely_, there was some other explanation. But as much as he wished, he could not deny the truth.

Harry Potter... was dead.

Albus buried his head in his hands, and silently despaired.

* * *

Later, when the despair was no longer as crushing, Albus left to investigate. What followed was lots of yelling and shocking revelations. To Albus, Love was the most powerful thing in the world, be it good or bad. Family was sacred, and supposed to be treasured.

The Dursleys, unfortunately, disagreed.

"You _know_ we never wanted him," Petunia hissed at him. "I _hated_ my freak of a sister, and I don't _care_ if the boy is dead. Good riddance, I say! Now get out! Get out!"

Albus left, shaken by her words and the knowledge in her mind. All the things she'd done to Harry, a mere _child_... Acts that Albus was partially responsible for. _He_ had placed the boy here, _he _was the one who ignored Minerva's warning, _he_ was the most at fault.

Albus was thankful it was still summer, because not even Fawkes song could shake his melancholy.

* * *

His gaze drifted to his pensive and Albus wondered what would happen now. Unwilling as he was to believe it, Harry Potter was dead. But there was still another who could fill the role the prophecy outlined. As unlikely as it seemed, it must be true – Neville Longbottom was the Boy-Who-Lived.

Albus briefly informed Minerva that he would be going away again, and Apparated to the gates of Longbottom Manor. He spent a moment critically inspecting the wards humming around him, and grudgingly admitted that they were some of the best he'd ever seen. Goblin wards, no doubt.

Keyed to keep him out, as well. Albus sighed, and tapped a short sequence on the gate with his wand. An elf popped into appearance inside of the wards, stared at him with wide eyes, and disappeared again. About twenty minutes later, Augusta Longbottom marched down the walk, a dark look in her eyes. Albus smiled cheerfully at her.

"Good afternoon, Madam," he greeted.

Augusta narrowed her eyes and return the greeting curtly, before asking, "Why are you here?"

"Something has happened, I'm afraid," he said gravely. "Harry Potter has..." his throat constricted around the words he needed to say, and he settled on an easier to say white lie, "gone missing."

Her eyes narrowed further. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"The prophecy referred to _two_ boys. With Harry gone, the subject has to be–"

"_Neville_?" Augusta sneered. She scoffed. "Impossible. If Harry Potter is missing, or _dead_, the prophecy is complete. I have never put any merit to that prophecy of yours in any case, and this only highlights its uselessness."

Albus hid a grimace with a bow of his head. "Even so," he appealed, "I must ask that you allow me to add to your wards."

"Absolutely _not_!" Augusta Longbottom immediately snarled. Albus sighed, and tried to give her a soothing smile.

"I must insist, madam. Surely you know the importance–"

"My wards are perfectly _fine_, I do not require any help from _you_ to _improve_ them. Besides that, Neville is in no danger whatsoever from your blasted prophecy. The boy is most likely a Squib, he is no use to _you_."

Augusta sniffed at him and quickly marched back to her home.

And Albus was left, once more, with nothing.

* * *

The Department of Mysteries was his next stop, and they let him into the Hall of Prophecy easily. He had an Unspeakable following him, of course, but Albus expected nothing less. Ignoring his guide, or guard, as best he could, he made his way to row 97 with careful steps.

The specific orb he was looking for was right where he remembered it being, the last time he was here. He couldn't touch it, since he wasn't a subject, but he could read the slip of paper underneath it well enough.

_S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D_

_Dark Lord_

_and (?)_

Beside the question mark was the name _Harry Potter_ written in a different hand. Albus reached to touch the tag but stop just short of contact. "Who edited this?" he asked the Unspeakable beside him. His guide tilted their head slightly.

"One of us did," she said, her voice quiet and airy. "The Dark Lord targeted that child over Neville Longbottom, and so he was chosen as the subject."

Albus nodded and dropped his hand. He noticed that the orb still glowed as it had the first time he saw it. "Is it still in progress?"

The Unspeakable tilted her head the other way. "Yes. On 13 August, the light turned black for a brief moment. However, it has since returned to white, thus is still active."

Albus released a relief breath. So Harry was still alive? That fact alone lifted the weight on his heart, but it didn't explain why his monitors had crumbled, nor why the wards had fallen, nor why the orb had changed color. Even so, he thanked his guide and left the Hall with the same measured steps as before.

This trip had answered one question at least. But it had also given him a whole new host of problems. Problems he still had no idea how to solve.

* * *

The realm Death, Fate and Time shared was strange. Since the beings were not alive by human standards, they didn't need to eat, didn't need to sleep, didn't need the breathe. Their realm, every Aspect's realm, reflected this. They could manipulate its appearance, could mold the swirling colors of the time and space to fit their needs as required, but it would never be more than a pocket realm. Never before had any Aspect tried to make something as elaborate as what they had planned.

Because Harry Potter was human, even if they were not, and they would have to accommodate that. Lady Fate designed the building the boy would be calling home, and when Death left to collect him, she and Mistress Time made that design a reality. They twisted the matter that make up their life, and added in the essentials the boy would more certainly need – namely _oxygen._

The house wasn't anything near normal, even by Wizarding definition. The building and the grounds, stretching to edge of their allotted space, were still in essence nothing more than the energy around them, solidified into shapes desired. The rooms in the house appeared as they were needed, and only the few necessities remained fixed. Harry's room, the sitting room, and the kitchens were those fixed features, with blank doors making up anything else.

It had been built around the viewing room from those considerably few years ago, now shifted to resemble a regular den.

The women of the trio were rather proud of what they had managed. They could only hope Harry would like it as well.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes to find his surroundings had changed. Gone was the garden of Number Four, replaced with the inside of the nicest house Harry had ever been in. Tod stood beside him, hand still holding his, and he was eyeing the foyer in amusement. Everything was white, and very clean, and this room held very little. Harry saw a pale blue rug, and a small table beside him, but that was it. There was a door directly in front of them, and a quick glance showed a double door behind him.

Tod made a tiny noise of amusement, and started towards the single door. Harry had little choice but to follow, though, he couldn't deny that he was curious to see the rest of house. He clutched his blanket closer to his chest, soaking in its comfort to overcome his nerves.

The door led into a sitting room bigger than the one in the Dursley's house, but filled with much of the same things. There was another pale blue rug under a rectangular coffee table, set between a white couch and two white armchairs. A large fireplace faced it all.

Harry was beginning to suspect a color scheme.

There were no windows, but the walls held countless picture frames. All of them were different scenes, cities or wilderness, but what really caught his attention was that they were _moving_. Harry was sure he was gaping, and not even Tod laughing at him made him stop.

An additional _female_ laugh did cause him to turn. Opposite the fireplace was another doorway, with a woman lounging against the edge of the opening. She was dressed in a long flowing gown, the fabric shimmering with every color possible, scenes appearing and fading as she moved. Harry watched, entranced, as she pushed away from the wall and approached him. Her hair was a shade Harry had never seen before, a pale blond that seemed like the perfect combination of sunshine and moonlight, and fell over her shoulders like a silken waterfall.

She smiled at him with obvious amusement, and Harry blushed, ducking behind Tod's leg. Thankfully for him, she turned her gaze to his human shield. "We were starting to worry," she said, her voice quiet yet loud enough for them to hear clearly. "What took so long, Death?"

Harry felt something in him freeze. _Death?_

Tod let out a long suffering sigh. "My Lady," he groaned, "was that _really_ necessary? He didn't know about that."

The woman frowned at him, but looked amused. "Then what name did you use? That is, if you gave him your name at all," she added wryly.

"I told him a name," the man mumbled, squeezing the hand in his grip lightly, trying to reassure Harry. He wasn't sure how successful it was. "I told him my name was Tod."

"Tod," the Lady replied dryly. "How original."

"Oh, be quiet," he shot back.

"What?" Harry finally voiced, eyes wide and flickering between the two of them. The woman smiled and crouched down in front of him.

"Harry Potter," she murmured, reaching to lightly brush his hair away from the mark on his forehead. Harry fidgeted under her gaze, shuffling a bit closer to Death. The woman leaned away with a quiet laugh. "No need to worry; you will be _incredibly_ safe with us." She spared an amused glance at Death and, when Harry glanced up, he saw that the man had a sheepish expression on his face.

Harry looked back at the woman as she stood, then sketched a small curtsy. "I am known as Lady Fate," she announced, giving him a soft smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Harry replied reflexively in a quiet tone. He relaxed seeing her nod in response, then glanced at his rescuer.

"You can continue calling me Tod, if you like," the man began with a shrug. "My other title, as my Lady has already said, is Death."

Harry swallowed heavily. "Like... the Grim Reaper?" When Tod shrugged and then nodded, Harry shrunk a little. "Does that mean I died?" he whispered, not sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, he didn't want to _die_. He was too young, hadn't lived properly by any means. But on the other... he could see his parents again if he was dead. He so desperately wanted to see his parents again.

"Oh Harry," Fate breathed, then swept forward to grab him in a hug, for all that he couldn't hug back. He settled for resting his head on her shoulder, and hoped she didn't mind.

Death shook his head with an odd look. "You haven't," he reassured. "To anyone monitoring you, it looked like you did, but you're still alive. You're just... here, now."

"Okay," Harry mumbled into Lady Fate's shoulder. That was okay, even if it meant that he couldn't see his parents. But, Tod was _Death_, so surely...? Maybe he could see them. If he was good.

When Lady Fate pulled away, Harry risked a glance at Death and saw him tilt his head. Then, a slow smile appeared on his face and Harry felt something like hope grow in him.

"How about I show you to your room," Tod said, tugging their still conjoined hands. Harry perked up again, stepping closer to the man with a bounce.

"I get a room?" he wondered, something like awe in his voice. Death glared into the distance, then forcibly cleared his expression and nodded.

"Yeah, kid. You do," he said. "Last night, all three of us made something up for you."

"Three of you?" Harry echoed with a frown. He glanced at Lady Fate, then back to Death and jumped. Standing at Death's shoulder was another woman, younger in appearance than Fate, but with that same ageless quality each of the beings had.

"He means me," she said cheerfully, looking at Harry with sparkling eyes. Her sleek black hair was pulled up in an elegant twirl, a pair of lacquered hair sticks holding it together. Her features were Asian, or what Harry thought was Asian, since he'd never actually seen anyone from outside of Britain.

Death glanced at her and sighed heavily.

"Still?" he asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice. The new woman huffed at him.

"The Japanese are fascinating," she said sharply, "and they age so well! Of course I'm going to emulate them!"

Death just sighed again while Lady Fate laughed quietly. Harry looked between them all, immensely confused. The new woman took pity on him, kneeling before him like Fate had.

"Sorry for not introducing myself," she said. "My name is Mistress Time. Or Tokemi, if you prefer."

Harry's mouth moved faster than his brain and he blurted, "But what about Father Time?" Then he flushed, "I mean, um, I just thought–"

Tokemi laughed, ruffling his hair.

"Many do," she told him. "That's my predecessor. He still keeps track of time, but he focuses on the distance and forgotten past. I took over a couple centuries ago, for the recent past and the present."

Lady Fate sent her a somewhat icy smile. "The present and near future often overlap, but _I _handle predictions."

Mistress Time waved a hand at her. "We all know that, my Lady. I don't know why you insist on mentioning it _all the time_." She smirked slightly, "Maybe you feel... insecure?"

Harry watched as Fate's smile grew even colder, and leaned further into Tod's side. Death sighed and steered Harry away from them, entering a different room. "Ignore them," he advised, "they're always trying to provoke the other." His voice was weary and resigned and Harry giggled. Death smiled at him. "Come on, let me show you your room."

Harry wondered if the reality of having _his own room_ would ever really set in. This all seemed like some grand dream and, if it was, Harry never wanted to wake up.

The room they passed through held a large table and everything needed for a good kitchen. Harry's eyes lingered on the appliances, and wondered if he would have to cook here too. But, then again, he didn't think Death and Time and Fate would have to eat, so maybe he didn't? Or maybe he would just have to cook for himself – and then, Harry thought with a strange smile, he would get to eat the food he made. Wasn't that a marvel idea?

Death glanced down at him, then followed his gaze. "Mistress Time likes cooking," he said in a tone bordering on bewilderment. "She likes seeing how the recipes change as humanity evolves, so you'll probably get to taste plenty of new and strange things."

"I won't have to cook?" Harry wondered. He was oddly disappointed, but tried to hide that. He'd never like the fact that he got nothing but leftovers and scraps, but he liked the act of cooking. He liked working in the garden, too, even if it was mostly because he was after from his relatives.

Death gave him an odd look that Harry missed. He gently tugged the boy's hand, leading them into a short hallway. "You can if you wish," he allowed. Harry hid a tiny smile.

The hallway was undecorated, white like every other room. There were no windows, but light was coming from somewhere. Harry found no bulbs, something he only then realized he'd never seen in either room. Then he looked up and gasped.

The whole ceiling was clear, made of glass that hid nothing of the sky, which was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. Colors swirled together, pastel shades of blue and green and white – hints of every other color imaginable lingering in the edges and the seams between patches of color. Harry had to look away after an awed moment, his head aching from the sight. Death chuckled beside him.

Harry resolutely ignored him, and looked around the hall instead. There were several doors, most faded so much that Harry barely noticed them, but three were solid – the one they had just come through from the kitchen, another that led to the sitting room, and a closed one that Death headed towards. A series of strange symbols were carved into the wood, and they glinted in the strange light. Harry had no idea what language it might be, but could guess it said something along the lines of "Harry's Room".

Harry vowed to study up on that language, if he could. Maybe they had a library here? (Out of sight, one the doors solidified, given form from his unconscious desire.)

The door opened with a light touch from Death, who quietly explained it would do the same for Harry. He directed Harry to enter first, and followed as the boy cautiously edged his way inside.

His steps took him to the center of the room, and he stared with wide eyes and bated breath. The room was bigger than he'd ever hoped, nearly as large as Dudley's room, and he wasn't surprised that it was colored the same as every other room. The walls and furniture was all white, though the floor was covered with a light blue rug, and the bed had blankets that matched. The ceiling was solid, with tiny floating orbs providing him light, as well as a large window covered by thin white curtains. There was a window seat there, too, with cushions and pillows and a blanket folded on one end.

All in all, Harry was in awe. "This is mine?" he asked in a tiny voice. He bit his lip and turned wide eyes to his rescuer. Death smiled back.

"It is," he confirmed. "And if you truly wish, this can be your home."

Harry hugged his blanket closer to him, burrowing his nose in it as he thought. Then, with a resolute nod, he laid it carefully on the chest at the end of _his_ bed. "Home," he whispered, smiling down at it. The concept filled his chest with warmth, and Harry wished that feeling could stay with him forever.

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke disorientated. For a long, immeasurable time, he just lay in the warmth of his sheets, marveling at that. This definitely wasn't his cupboard, and in his sleep-fogged mind, he was sure this was just a dream. A very, _very_ nice dream, but just another fantasy to be crushed when he woke.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and opened them again. Nothing had changed.

Oddly colored sunlight streamed through his window, painting pale shades of blue and green and pink across his floor and bed. His glasses were on the bedside table to his right, and he slipped them on. There was a chest at the end of the bed, and a wardrobe and bookshelf bordering a closed door directly across from him. The floor was covered in the same pale blue rug that appeared everywhere else, and the blankets matched it.

Harry stared at it all for several minutes. It was both unreal and nothing but real at the same time, and if he was entirely honest, it was overwhelming. Overwhelming and definitely _not_ a dream.

Harry laid back with a small smile, his eyesight blurring as tears welled up. They were happy tears, though, something that he hadn't thought possible before Tod – Death – had taken him in.

It was two weeks late, but Harry thought this was the best birthday present he'd ever gotten.

* * *

_A/N: Tokemi is Japanese for "Time embodied" so I figured I go with that._

_The (much awaited?) second chapter! And it only took me thirteen months to write! Sorry. I do have plans for further chapters, but this won't be updated very often. Don't be surprised if it takes me another year to update this. Also, how do you write young children? I think I failed._


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